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I ignored the wink. “Who’s Kenny?”
His brow furrowed. “Huh. If you’re not with Kenny… Are you the” —he lowered his voice— “entertainment?”
Words—I had none.
The guy slid an arm up the screen door, leaning into it to show off an equally hairy underarm. “Now, I know this is a bachelor party weekend and all, but Carter? He’s more of a straitlaced guy, ifyouknowwhatImean. Not sure he’d be into personal entertainment of the adult variety. Not that I object or judge. I respect a woman who owns her career and vow we will not objectify your body beyond reasonable and expected measures. Well, unless you want me to.” Another wink.
My mouth dropped open. “I mean, I can juggle…” but I wasn’t about to jiggle—no. This had to be a mistake. “I’m not hired entertainment. I rented this house for the weekend. Am I early? Are you packing up to leave?”
Myriad expressions crossed his features as he switched gears. “I rented this house. Carter’s gettin’ married. He’s the first of us, so we had to go big and do up a whole weekend. Good deal on this place.”
“That’s impossible. I have the dates right here.” I scrolled through my phone to pull up the reservation.
I looked up at an empty doorway. A moment later, Mr. Swim Trunks returned, unfolding a piece of paper. “I don’t trust the cell service up here so I printed this out. See here. Booked through Monday. My name: Vincent D. Morello.”
Sure enough, the dates and the address matched.
I showed him my phone. Same dates, same address. “Not sure what happened here, but I have four more—well, two more people on their way. We need this house.”
“I’ve got four guys coming. Maybe there’s an extra cot in the attic—the listing said they could accommodate up to seven. I’d have to clear it with the guys, though. Like I said, Carter, he’s a good guy. Word of this breaks to his fiancé and we’re looking at trouble.”
I pressed my fingers against the dull throb emitting from my forehead. “No, this is a mistake. See, I know the family who owns the rental. My mom is good friends with them and I used to—anyway, they wouldn’t have rented to me if—”
A near sonic boom of a car stereo drowned out my words. A black SUV arrived in the driveway. A window rolled down and the music blasted louder. “Vincent!” someone shouted above the noise.
The guy at the doorway threw both arms in the air. “Carter! The man of the hour. Get over here!”
Out of the SUV, three more guys spilled out, bringing with them duffel bags and coolers and plastic bags of groceries.
I couldn’t hear my own thoughts over their greetings and slapping each other’s backs.
This was a problem.
Despite being nearly thirty years old—okay, twenty-seven—I called my mother for help.
“Mom, the rental is double booked!” I nearly shouted into my phone. The shouting aimed to block the noise from the bachelor party unfolding on the front lawn behind me.
“I don’t even get a hello? A thanks for helping you plan your girls’ weekend?”
Head. Throbbed. “There is no girls’ weekend if we don’t have a place to stay. Did you even hear what I said? Someone else is booked here. A whole bunch of bros for some guy name Carter’s upcoming wedding.”
“Belinda never mentioned anyone named Carter.”
I took a breath. “There are two bookings for the same house on the same weekend. And from the looks of it, these guys are settling in.” Lawn chairs had appeared and a cooler was cracked opened. Loud music continued to blare.
“Well, darn. Something must have gone wrong.” Shuffling sounded on the other end. “Belinda’s out of town these next few weeks—she and Tim are touring Ireland! Isn’t that something?”
Belinda, the family friend who owned the rental, was obviously a dead end to resolve my problem if she currently played tourist in Irish castles. “Look, I don’t have a place to stay and the other girls—” minus two “—are coming soon. I booked this house months ago. I’m not even sure what we can find so last minute.”
“I’m so sorry…” she was saying, still with the shuffling sounds. “You know Adam is up there, right? Staying on the other property they own?”
Ice frosted through my chest. No. Absolutely not. “I…I’ll look for a hotel and text the others.”
“Jillian. He’s just across the lot in the next house over. You can’t see it through the trees, but it’s the long drive with the red mailbox at the street. He’s managing the property this summer while his parents travel. They never get to travel, you know. They’re always up north—”
“I’m not going to talk to him.” I was a grown adult with a PhD. I could sort out my own problems. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“It’s not a bother. I feel awful your plans went sideways. I’m sure if you let Adam know—”
